


better than an alarm clock

by lilithqueen



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Sex, emm is a good guy okay and deserves some loving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 19:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15669429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: Ritanelle Soleil, Scion of the Seventh Dawn and acclaimed primal-slayer, spends part of her vacation between patches 4.3 and 4.4 in Dragonhead. One morning, she wakes up early.Emmanellain, her dearest friend, makes it a very good morning indeed.





	better than an alarm clock

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is just gratuitous porn. I figured Emmanellain deserves it (he is such a good guy, okay?? labrador puppy of an elezen with a shield and a good heart!), and my main certainly does. In the event you want to read more about her and Emm, their tumblr tag (on my RP blog) is [here](http://ffxiv-swarm.tumblr.com/tagged/rita-and-emm).

Ritanelle never wanted to move. The bed was warm, the blankets were warm _and_ soft, and Emmanellain was a solidly muscled furnace pressed against her back, one gentle hand sliding over her breast. And it was still early enough—or late enough, if you kept the hours she preferred—that nobody would come looking for Dragonhead’s commander for bells yet. The night couldn’t get better.

Emm’s lips pressed to the side of her neck, just over the edge of the scar that curved down between her breasts in a stark white line; she shivered and tilted towards him, ears pricking at the sleepy affection in his voice as he murmured, “Oh. Good morning.”

She revised that opinion. The night— _day_ , apparently—could get better. “Mm.”

He hummed quietly, nuzzling at her neck; his nose was cold, and the sensation made her breath catch in her throat. Damn him, he _knew_ her neck was sensitive, and seemed intent on exploiting it. As his fingers trailed down the curve of her stomach, he purred, “Far better with you here.”

Something in her chest squeezed sharply at his words, and her breath left her in a huff. Emmanellain was always like that. Kind. Gentle. Happy to see her. When she’d arrived two days ago in a howling storm, determined to spend at least some of her vacation catching up with him after her time in Othard, he’d dropped his snow shovel and rushed to pick her up, spinning her around in an exuberant hug. For a moment she’d thought he’d kiss her right there; he hadn’t, but when it had finally came it was, in Rita’s opinion, a good thing they’d been at the door to his room already. And—she wriggled lightly against him, feeling his pulse pick up when she discovered he was half-hard—he _always_ seemed to want her. It was intoxicating.

But despite the fact that he was still devoting attention to her throat, that exploring hand didn’t seem to be finding its way between her legs any time soon, and she _wanted_ him there. Further encouragement seemed to be necessary; as much as it killed her to have him stop touching her, she pulled away just enough to roll over and face him, running her hands over his chest and returning his grin with one of her own. “I want to make it better.”

“Oh?” His eyes gleamed as he propped himself up on one elbow, free hand playing with the ends of her long hair. When she only smirked, he chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss her, slow and sweet. If her arm wasn’t falling asleep, it was something she could have kept doing all morning; since it _was_ , she shifted to pull him over on top of her instead.

He went willingly, pressing her down into the bed and sliding a thigh between her legs. She arched into the friction, grinding against him—yes, this was definitely another thing she could have done all morning. _One day. When we both have time._ “Mmm.” But the blankets were rapidly becoming too warm, and she squirmed to kick them off.

Cold air washed over them both, but Emmanellain didn’t seem to notice; he was still kissing her. A disappointed noise escaped her when his mouth left hers, but since he was mouthing along her throat and down over her collarbone—gentle over the scar the Wailer’s knife had left, slight but deliciously sharp pressure of teeth everywhere else—she couldn’t complain. As he moved down her body, she didn’t bother trying to stifle her moans. “Ah— _Emm_...”

His lips ghosted over her stomach, just firmly enough not to tickle. She tilted towards him encouragingly, but his thumbs pressed into the hollow of her hipbones to hold her in place. His eyes gleamed wickedly as he gazed up along the length of her body, an errant lock of dark hair tumbling over his shoulder to brush her skin. “Good. I find myself rather hungry, you know.”

He slid backwards to kneel between her legs; unconsciously, she licked her lips. Everywhere he’d touched still seemed to tingle, and she wanted more so badly that it was becoming almost painful. She bent one knee a bit higher, reaching down to card her fingers through his hair; when he tilted his head into it, she found herself smiling. “...Oh, _really_.”

“Hungry for _you_ ,” he purred, and she shivered appreciatively at the warmth of his breath—but then his eyebrow twitched, and she couldn’t hold back a giggle. He huffed against her hip, pouting at her. One ear drooped grumpily.

She propped herself up on her elbow, the better to grin down at him and tweak his hair lightly. “That line was _awful_. Did you practice it?”

“Hrmph.” Seemingly unhurried, he turned his attention to the inside of her thigh. His breath washed over her skin an instant before his lips did, warm and wet, and she felt the sizzle of pleasure all the way to her toes. She shifted slightly, spreading her legs wider, and found herself making a noise embarrassingly close to a whimper. He sounded distinctly smug. “I don’t have to. It’s the truth.”

And then he was lowering his head, and the first lap of that impossibly hot tongue against her clit made her whole body jolt. She trembled, trying to press back against his mouth, but his hands on her hips kept her firmly on the bed. “You—oh, gods, _Emm_.” Words fled. _Thought_ fled. All she could do was feel—the soft sheets under her, the fresh callouses on Emm’s fingers, the whisper of cold air seeping in through the bed curtains that did nothing to allay the heat that seemed to be melting her from the inside out.

Her grip tightened on his hair and he _moaned_ against her, tongue working diligently on her clit. The vibrations against such sensitive flesh made her yelp, back arcing as her free hand clawed at the blankets. “Fuck!” And then— _gods_ —his tongue was sliding against her folds, hot and slick and he was making soft hungry sounds, and every muscle in her body felt like a coiled spring. A little further, and she’d snap.

He gave her what she wanted. First his lips, and then his tongue working her clit again, steady and inexorable; he knew her by now, knew her body well enough to tell when she was close, and he wasn’t _stopping_ . Still, her orgasm almost took her by surprise—she had a moment to think _oh_ before she was coming, arching nearly off the bed as she shuddered and twitched through it. As she panted, trying to catch her breath, Emm’s mouth caressed her slowly through the aftershocks. She had to squeeze her eyes shut against too much sensation; he was stroking her thighs, and that helped. “Fuck. That was...gods, you’re incredible.”

“You don’t need to sound surprised!” But his voice was warm and teasing as he pulled away; she heard him stretch, felt the way his weight shifted on the bed before he moved back up her body. The sweat on her skin was starting to cool her down, and she sighed happily at the warmth radiating from him. When she opened her eyes again, it was to watch him resting on his elbows and looking utterly content. His mouth was still wet, and he sighed as she closed the ilms between them for a kiss.

“I never am. But...mmm, you deserve to know.” _You always deserve to know._ For a moment, anger flashed through her. Clumsy though he could be in expressing it, Emmanellain always _meant_ the compliments he spouted; that he never expected to hear the same in return struck her as deeply unfair. But with his body pressed against her so fully, it was difficult to hold on to even a twinge of annoyance. Especially when he was right there and it was so easy to run her hands up his spine, to taste herself in his mouth and rub against him like a cat. “...Mm...” Oh, that was good. That was _very_ good.

His cock was pressing against her thigh, hot and heavy, and he broke away to breathe, “I want you— _very_ badly right now, Rita, may I—?”

She kissed him hard, tangling one hand in his hair and tugging firmly—not enough to hurt, but enough so that his appreciative groan reverberated against her mouth as he pressed against her. Muscles flexed under her palm as she dug fingers into his shoulderblade, and she couldn’t stop herself from wriggling under him. She was still dripping wet and almost too sensitive, but once hadn’t been enough. She still wanted more.

And he wasn’t giving it to her. He was, in fact, drawing back and shooting her a quick, almost shy glance. “Was that a yes or should I get you another mug of that tea first or…? Ow!”

That tug on his hair must have hurt. She glared at him, very pointedly lifting her hips to slide her folds along his cock. Gods, she _ached_. “Tea’s good for another three days. I love you, Emm, but you’re far too cautious sometimes.”

For a moment he simply stared at her, eyes wide. And then he surged forward, swallowing her cry of pleasure with a ferocious kiss as he slid into her with one smooth thrust, hard and slick and bottoming out in her so suddenly that she was left breathless, clawing roughly down his back in a search for something to anchor herself with. _Fuck_. While he was honestly average for an Elezen man, she always felt so perfectly _full_ when he took her. “Emm, you’re...nngh.“

He was bracing himself with one hand on the bed, the other grabbing at her hip hard enough to bruise as he moved her and _held_ her in a better position, a more convenient angle. He dropped his mouth to her throat, mouthing along the unscarred skin and sending such shockwaves through her that she almost missed his growl of “Alright?”

“Good, good—fuck, Emm, you’re perfect, just like _that_ —” Her words seemed to encourage him; _that_ was hard and fast, each thrust sliding past a spot inside her that made her toes curl. Teeth nipped at her collarbone, a sweet little sting. When she drew her nails down his spine in response, she grinned to hear him moan.

And he was still _moving_ , she couldn’t always come like this but each thrust seemed to draw her closer and closer, and she had to bite at his shoulder to muffle the shriek that nearly escaped her at a particularly hard thrust. He gasped at that, almost faltered, and she bucked her hips to urge him on. “Nngh, no—faster, damn you!” _Don’t you dare stop if you stop I will kill you I’m so close—_

There was a quiet huff from him, but he seemed to be beyond words—the hand not bracing his weight against the bed as he fucked into her had settled at her ass, squeezing almost roughly as he obediently sped up. Any other time she might have stroked his hair and told him he was being _so good_ , but that would have to wait; now all she could do was cling, one hand buried in the thick hair curling at the base of his skull and the other digging its nails into the meat of his back as he growled. Coherent thought was a distant concept. Another orgasm was coiling through her, building and building in a tight curl of sensation.

 _More._ “More, please, more—ah!” This orgasm wasn’t quite as _present_ as the last one, but the shocks of pleasure seemed to ripple even deeper inside of her; she swore she could feel it in her toes as she squeezed around him, shaking like a leaf. Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t stop the rocking of her hips or stifle the frankly embarrassing high-pitched cry that escaped her.

He followed her with a low groan, burying his face in her hair as he spilled into her. Time seemed to stand still; there was only their racing heartbeats, their harsh breaths evening out, the solid weight of him above her. When he moved it was only to slide out and lower himself down onto his side, wrapping his arms around her slowly and carefully. She curled against him, wincing a little at the wet emptiness they’d left behind. Neither of them spoke.

Her heart was still pounding. She squirmed against his chest; there, that was more comfortable. She could feel the twinges already—her back, her thighs, the pressure inside her she knew she’d be aware of for the rest of the day—but they were good aches, reminding her that she was alive. Emm was stroking her hair, pulling it gently off her neck and letting loose curls slip through his fingers; when she ran a hand over his side, she found herself echoing his happy sigh. _Best way to start the day._

Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and Emmanellain broke the silence with a chuckle. “Hungry, old girl?”

 _Second-best._ Despite her hunger—a not insignificant part of her mind had apparently decided to wake up and demand bread—she let out an involuntary whine as he pulled away. “No, you’re warm. Come back.”

He was already sitting up and twitching the curtains to let in some of the gray dawn light; the sight of him running his hands through his dark hair, fresh marks vivid on his pale skin, was tempting enough that she pushed herself into a more or less upright position for a better view. He shot her a tired grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’d rather stay in bed myself, but...”

Thinking quickly at five bells in the morning on an empty stomach had never been her strong point, but the way he wasn’t quite managing to meet her gaze set off alarms in her mind. She frowned, watching his ears twitch as though it was only great effort that kept them upright. Something was _wrong_. Carefully, telegraphing her movements the way she’d seen hostlers do with skittish chocobos, she reached over to lay a hand on his arm. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. She kept her voice low. “What’s the matter?” Ice slid into her heart like a knife. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing!” Now it was his turn to stare at her, all wide-eyed alarm as he snatched her hand up in both of his. “You—you are beyond compare, Ritanelle, never doubt that. ‘Tis only...” His gaze dropped to their hands, and he took a deep breath; she waited, heart lodged in her throat, for him to continue.

His silence stretched on until she couldn’t take it anymore; if it didn’t kill her, her racing heart was going to do it for him. “’Tis only _what_ , damn you?!” Air didn’t seem to be reaching her lungs. “Emm, please tell me or you will actually see me die right here in this bed.”

He blinked at her, squeezing her hand tighter. “Well, there’s no need to go _that_ far. It’s just...well. Earlier.” His attempt at maintaining eye contact failed him; as his eyes fell to the bedspread, he licked his lips nervously and continued. “You said...well. That you loved me?”

She was fairly certain her face and ears couldn’t actually catch fire, but they seemed to be making a spirited attempt. “Um.”

Words left him in a nervous rush, voice cracking. “Only, that is—if you _do_ love me, I’ve no objections, but I’ve never—nobody has ever _told_ me that, you understand, and while I do hold the strongest feelings of affection for you I can hardly tell if ‘tis actually _love_ but I do—well—“

She squeezed her eyes shut. Breathing seemed to be a higher priority, and she suddenly couldn’t do that while looking at his half-terrified face. He’d loosened his grip on her hand, but his fingers were shaking. “...I think we both need tea and a bath.” She paused, cracking one eye open to watch his face fall. “ _Separate_ baths, or we’ll never leave.”

“...So...is that...are we...” At last he dropped her hand, gesturing helplessly between them. His ears drooped; though he looked utterly lost, she thanked Menphina that he hadn’t pressed her for an answer. She wasn’t sure she could give him one.

“I don’t know either.” She took a deep breath past the pounding that seemed to be filling her ears, steadfastly ignoring the way her lungs refused to expand properly. There was one thing she did know, and it anchored her. It had gotten her through the Dragonsong War, and it was there for her now. “But we’re friends, no matter what.”

His ears lifted slowly, some of the blind terror that had been creeping onto it sheepishly withdrawing. “Then that’s all I need.”

 _Friends. We’re friends._ The relief was suddenly too much; it demanded an outlet. Before she could think better of it, she launched herself into his arms and hugged him tightly, pressing her face into the side of his neck. “Thank the Twelve. Emm, you have no _idea_ the fright you gave me!”

He made a startled sound, freezing for a moment before squeezing her back. As she grunted quietly—his arms around her were almost too tight—he exhaled a gusty breath into her hair. “The fright _I_ gave _you?_ I thought you were longing for a commitment!”

She had to snort at that. “Emm, you’re my best friend, but there is no way in any of the seven hells that I would ever commit myself to anything but the Scions for the foreseeable future...or until we’ve secured a lasting peace for Eorzea, whichever.”

She could feel his abs twitch as he huffed out a silent laugh. “Ah, so what you’re saying is that anyone desiring your hand in marriage must duel Alphinaud Leveilleur for the privilege?”

The sheer absurdity of the mental image made her snicker, curling closer to him. “Yeah, so maybe in ten years, if you train _very_ hard, you’ll last more than twenty seconds against him. In the meantime...do you want to dress and find food, or stay here and see if we can get more sleep in?” Truthfully, her body felt heavy enough that it was a difficult decision. _Sleep would be good. But food...mm, something with bread...would also be good._

“Mrr...” Reluctantly, he loosened his hold. “No, I think I’m too awake now. I’ll let you bathe first, old girl, and then fetch us both a proper breakfast, how about that?”

 _Breakfast. Tea._ Visions of an Ishgardian breakfast—eggs, sausages, buttered bread, a heaping pile of fried popotoes and onions, thick slices of smoked pork—danced through her head, and she sat up so fast she felt her head spin. “That is an _excellent_ idea. I’ll be quick!”

Today would be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick notes:
> 
> 1) Rita's a Gridanian duskwight summoner! Her scar is from when a pair of Wood Wailers tried to attack her. They were not expecting Fire1 to the face.  
> 1a) Yes, Emm has drunkenly offered to punch a tree for her.  
> 2) She and Emmanellain met as a one-night stand and she fully expected to be kicked out the next morning. She was very surprised to find out that he was not only cuddly but _affectionate._  
>  3) The most common contraceptives in Eorzea are herbal teas, effective anywhere from a day to a week. The weekly ones, while more convenient for the busy adventurer, taste disgusting and Rita spends most of the day queasy after drinking them.  
> 4) Emm mentally justifies this banging to himself with "well, I said my _heart_ belongs to Laniaitte but I never said anything about any _other_ body parts..." He and Rita both know he is not actually in love with the lady knight, but Emm insists he Totally Is, Really, Never Mind All The Sappy Gushing Over Half Of Ishgard And Rita In Particular.  
>  5) They can be spotted in Ishgard by following the well-dressed couple clutching drinks and chattering with a complete disregard for "inside voices," typically having a...let's say _spirited debate_ over whether Alphinaud Leveilleur or Honoroit Banlardois is the more accomplished young elezen. Honoroit himself can often be found several paces behind, looking mortally embarrassed.


End file.
